All We Are
by Abstracted
Summary: Through the grit and grime of his violent life, Spike becomes enamored by one fascinating Buffy Summers. However, their attraction becomes palpable as their worlds come crashing;the underground Spike struggled to escape comes to claim any semblance of freedom and joy he'd found, and the two fight tooth and claw to hold ontos each other and themselves. SPUFFY AU.
1. One

**All We Are**  
_Abstracted_

* * *

**_One: Little Warrior_**

The first time Buffy Summers saw the bleach-blond Spike was when he came barreling through the hospital emergency room, his face purple and red with fresh bruises. He was striking, in both the 'car-wreck you couldn't look away from' and 'bad boy punk hottie from the streets' ways. He had on dark jeans so worn in some places it looked gray and some severely scruffed up Doc Martens. His black tee shirt looked stained with blood and was ripped in some places.

His entrance, however intimidating it seemed, barely ruffled the ER nurses and Doctors. Confused, Buffy observed the staff closely and their interaction with this new blond man. They seemed only irritated by his appearance, though for some the irritation was also accompanied by some degree of affection.

An annoyed sigh brought Buffy's attention back to herself. She turned and smiled when she saw Ben, the really nice intern who was working on her mother's case.

"That's Spike," Ben told her as he watched, disdain in his eyes, as the blond man approached the reception desk, a flirty grin on his face as he addressed the middle aged nurse, Rena.

"He looks like got beat up really bad," said Buffy, frowning.

"More like he was the one doing the beating up," mumbled Ben, "He's a hooligan."

"Oh." Buffy sounded almost disappointed, mostly by the fact that she found someone like that even a little bit attractive.

"So Buffy," said Ben, smiling at her, "You mom's fine. Looks like just exhaustion. We just have to run one more test, but you'll both be free in less than an hour."

Buffy let out a relieved breath, "That's great news. Is there anything I need to do?"

"Yes, Rena has some papers for you to sign," said Ben, motioning to the front desk where Spike was still conversing with the nurses, "I gotta go check up on a patient. Will you alright?"

Buffy nodded, "Of course. I'll be perfectly fine."

Ben gave her his most charming smile. "I'll see you Buffy."

"Bye!"

She waved and watched as Ben hurried down the hospital corridor, musing how lucky she was to have such a good looking, young and nice Doctor—well, it was her mother's Doctor, really. She let out a breath and headed towards the desk, eyes warily on the hooligan Spike, who was hovering around the reception desk, probably waiting for his Doctor. He barely glanced at her as she brushed past him and ask Rena for her paperwork.

The door to the emergency room opened again and a pair of police officer entered, looking quite menacing and ready to make an arrest. They spotted Spike and made a beeline for him. Buffy watched with morbid fascination as things unfold, still standing at the reception and half turned towards them.

Spike gave the officers a grin so full of cheek that Buffy expected one of them to just punch or slap him, but she couldn't get rid of the notion of how good he looked with that grin.

"'Lo officers," Spike greeted, sliding his hands into his pockets, "I'm flattered you came all the way for lil ol' me."

Buffy noted his accent in surprise. British, like Giles, her Godfather.

The two officers glared, and when they came close enough, Buffy could see they were both much larger and taller than Spike, who mostly wiry in build.

"Spike," the dark haired officer grumbled, "This time we're gonna have to take you in."

Spike threw up his hand, "A date? Already? Said I was flattered, mate, but I don't bend that way. I mostly go for the birds."

The officers rolled their eyes. "Let's go Spike, we don't wanna make a scene in a hospital."

"Look mates," Spike sighed, "I'm all for justice and fighting for rainbows and puppies, shit, I'm all for the clink after a good fight, but this time 'round, I'm telling you, I didn't start it."

"You still knocked him out," the dark haired one muttered, "And that's ground for some time in cooler, buddy."

"Uh huh, not going 'til I see Grace."

"Spike! We don't have time for this."

"'M saying you do. S'not like you lot do anything most of the—"

"Alright, cuff him."

The light haired officer took a step forward towards Spike, cuffs in hand. Spike backed up a bit and made to evade the officer, but other man grabbed a fistful of his shirt and spun him around. He grabbed and twisted Spike's left arm while violently pushing Spike, face first onto the surface of the reception table. Buffy backed away slightly, startled and winced as she heard the smack as face met table top.

Spike let out a snarl, turning his face so that his left cheek was pressed down instead of his nose. His eyes traveled around angrily and finally fell on Buffy, meeting her eyes. He flashed a roguish grin at her and winked. Buffy started back, her face flushing in embarrassment. She caught herself a second after, and her pride swelled as her irritation did at his ill-time flirting. She pursed her lips, raised a bored eyebrow at him, rolled her eyes and turned her eyes away. She swore she heard him chuckle.

The next moment, Spike, handcuffed, was being led away from the two officers out of the ER room.

"Ooh boy," she heard Rena say, "One day that boy's gonna get in some real trouble."

Buffy looked at Rena, puzzled. "This wasn't real trouble?"

"Oh no honey, it's trouble alright, just petty kind. Spike's infamous 'round these parts for his hot tempered fights. Nothing serious though, just fisticuffs. But if he don't get his act up, he could end up doing worse."

"He beats up people?"

But her question went answered. Rena handed her some forms and left quickly to help an EMT handle a geriatric emergency.

Buffy was left with the image of those startling blue eyes meet her own, and winking.

* * *

The next day, Buffy made sure that her mother was comfortably nestled in bed with zebra toast and tea. The doctors had told her exhaustion, so Buffy made it her mission to make her mother untire-y as possible. Pamper her like a queen.

Joyce Summers was one of the hardest working people Buffy knew. If only her father had respected that, then he would have been here, doing the taking care instead of his 18 year old daughter. Lately, her mother had been working a lot more than usual—she had gotten an entire catalogue of works from three famous Czech artists who collectively called themselves _Dagon_. Apparently, the dudes were all the rage and everyone was more than shocked when they decided to sell their rare works to a small, no-name Southern California gallery instead of setting up in some ritzy place in New York. Joyce and her gallery were even in the LA times, and everyone was making a huge deal of it. Supposedly there was going to be a fancy, artsy Gallery Opening sometimes next month and, according to her mother, all the big shots in artists and collectors were going to be there.

"Oh Buffy," Joyce sighed, "I wish I could be there at the Gallery. The last shipment is coming in today and I wanted to see it in."

"No work for you," Buffy chastised lightly, "You're going to be relaxo-girl today while Buffy Summers takes care of you. It's a rare sight, rarer than some stuffy artsy paintings, so you can't miss it."

Joyce grinned, "Of course I can't. Thank you, honey."

"No problem."

"But oh I wish we could just go. There is this one collaborative, multimedia piece called '_Dawn_' that is just divine, Buffy. It doesn't get that much attention, but in my opinion it one of their best works. I was thinking of buying it personally."

"Wow," Buffy said, trying to sound excited, "Must be great."

"You'll love it when you see it," Joyce said, smiling, "It's a warm and wonderful work."

"I'm sure, Mom," said Buffy, nodding, "But now, you rest while I…um…give you a foot rub?"

Joyce looked at her daughter suspiciously then. "Alright Buffy, you making me tea is all good, but foot rub goes into the realm of kissing up to mother. What's up?"

Buffy gave her mom an innocent smile, "Prom?"

"Oh, is that soon? I'm sorry Buffy, of course, you need to get a dress for prom."

"Yup. I saw this marvelous dress at Diane's Boutique the other day, you know, but it's a bit pricy so…"

"It's alright honey," said Joyce, smiling, "The money coming in from this event can allow me to indulge my only daughter on her Prom night."

Buffy's eye lit up, "Ooh yes! Now I love Czech artists!"

Joyce laughed. "Who are you going with? That Riley boy?"

Buffy's smiled faded a bit at the mention of Riley. "I suppose, I mean we're having problems, but I think we're still going together."

Joyce frowned. "Problems, honey?"

"Well, he's going to West Point, mom, and he wanted me to come to New York with him you know, go to NYU so we'll be closer. But I obviously don't want to do that—I want to go to Northwestern—and he said that perhaps I wasn't serious enough about our relationship. That's ridiculous, isn't it mom?"

"I agree with you Buffy," Joyce said, smiling at her daughter with a tint of pride, "He can't demand you go with him wherever he goes."

"Yeah," sighed Buffy, dejected, "I really liked him. He's so sweet, but he pulls something this ridiculous on me. And he's acting all insecure."

"Hm, why don't you talk to him more about it?"advised Joyce, "I'm sure he's just upset that distance will break you up. He really cares for you."

"Well, it seems that way," muttered Buffy, "But yeah, more talks in order with the boyfriend. We'll still be going together though, so I can dress all pretty."

"Right, well, Buffy, I'm going to take a nap. Why don't you go finish your homework and we can have a long chat about this later?"

She pecked Joyce on the cheeks. "Okay, mom, sleep tight."

/Line/

The first thing Spike day when he arrived in Sunnydale again after spending three weeks in the clink was to buy a pack of smokes. The second thing he did was heading to the Bronze so he could indulge in a bottle of JD. When he walked in, the music was sultry and loud as usual and the clientele young and fresh. He liked Bronze for the nubile birds that came and showed off what puberty had bestowed upon them. Spike had a mind to pick one up tonight, needing some real satisfaction after too much time with his five little friends for the last three weeks.

He swaggered in, moving smoothly like a predator on the prowl, blues eyes scanning the dance floor like a hawk. He was liking what he saw, figuring that the high school senior girls were out celebrating their impending freedom from the hell that was the American Secondary Education system.

Spike circled the dance floor, putting out his smokes into a nearby trashcan, enjoying the sight. His eyes finally fell on a familiar sight, and boy what a sweet, familiar sight she was. He recognized her gorgeous little face, the golden hair, the cute, distinctive nose and those wide, innocent hazel green eyes—though he couldn't quite see her eyes so closely now.

The girl's body was small and almost kittenish, but was lean and shapely, and swayed to the music in a fashion just bordering on erotic and innocent. She wore a backless halter top that swayed, giving hints to what lay just beneath. He was sure she was making the boys around her go crazy—hell, he wanted to rip that flimsy piece of cloth off and explore, and he wasn't as close as those boys were.

She was a magnificent, sweet thing, he realized, accidentally seductive and alluringly innocent. She was one of those birds he wanted to both take to his bed and wrap up protectively from the world.

Mostly, he was absolutely enthralled by the way she rolled her eyes at him at the hospitable after she caught herself blushing. She was obviously a proud and tough little lady.

Spike, however, didn't make a move towards her. She was out of his reach and had no business in his business, and vice versa, he'd just admire from afar. For now, he needed to pick out a bimbo to satisfy his bodily needs just for the night.

* * *

Buffy, Willow and Anya finally tired of dancing after some half hour on the dance floor, and fought their way back to the table. Riley, Xander, Oz and, oddly, Cordelia, were waiting for them, chatting and eating hot wings.

"Hey honey," Buffy greeted Riley, give him a kiss on the cheek, "Ooh, wings."

"Why are you here, Cordelia?" Anya asked suspiciously. She obviously didn't like Xander and his ex sitting at the same table—plus, Anya was never one for tact. Because it was Cordy, no one at the table really cared to rein back Anya's hostilities, which were more comic than anything anyways.

"Harmony that whore left me to throw herself on a guy," Cordy grumbled, "Some freak with weird hair."

"That's nice Cordy," mumbled Xander, "But you're here because?"

"'Cause I also just dumped Gavin."

Buffy raised her brows at the cheerleader. "Really?"

"Yes, loser," Cordy mumbled angrily.

Gavin Warchester was the star football player on their rather average Sunnydale team. Still, he was eye candy, and that's all that mattered to Cordelia, well, until she dumped him.

"You can't have Xander," Anya warned, which was met with the simultaneous, 'I don't want him' and 'I don't want to be wanted.'

"Good," Anya said tersely, satisfied.

Afterwards, the conversation carried onto the subject of prom, prom dresses and life after college. The wings and drink kept coming, and Buffy was very much enjoying herself. A cute, older guy came to flirt for Cordy, and the two of them danced while the rest watched, poking general fun at their 'frenemy'. When Cordy and her new boy came back, she announced that she was leaving with him, smiling complacently, and left the table.

"Fast," Oz commented.

"You think she just didn't break up with her boyfriend of nearly a year," Xander said bitterly.

"Oh it's just Cordy," Willow smiled.

"Who forgot her purse," Buffy added, seeing the red and black purse Cordy left behind on the seat. She grabbed it, "I'm gonna catch up to her."

Buffy left, with her and Cordy's bags in hand, and headed towards the exit. She could see Cordelia just leaving the building on the arm of the new man. Cordy was nowhere in sight when Buffy finally made it outside, and Buffy walked for a bit, hoping to catch up. A muffled scream stopped her in her tracks, and she looked around, and saw a shadow just behind the back alley exit. Frowning, she decided to check it out.

* * *

Spike had thrown off the empty headed blonde bimbo off of him, deciding that as much as he wanted some tonight, he was sure he could handle her brainless twittering. The girl was a looker but she either needed to learn to shut up or get a real brain.

He headed towards the back alley exit.

* * *

Buffy rushed into the alley when she heard the scream get louder. It was girl's, and she crying and begging her attacker to stop. Buffy's stomach went cold at the thought of what might be happening. She reached into her bag and put her hands around her choice of weapon.

Buffy let out a sigh, and rushed into the opening. She saw a large brute of a man, obviously drunk, standing over a frightened woman, his hands ripping her shirt open. The woman was crying and a large purple and black bruise on one side of her face made Buffy's blood boil.

She hated things like this!

"Hey!" she shouted, running at him. Surprised, he turned around to face her as she came with her fist raised, and landed a strong punch right in the jaw. The man let out a howl of pain and staggered backwards, clutching his mouth.

"You bitch!"

Buffy put herself between the man and the woman in fighting stance.

"You're disgusting," she said, "Get out of here!"

The man took one look at Buffy and grinned. "I like the feisty ones better, anyways," he snarled, lunging towards her.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Men," she growled, whipping out the can of mace from her bag and spraying it unapologetically in the eyes of the man. He staggered back, shouting bloody murder and rubbing his eyes.

"Tip for you jackass, rubbing makes it worse." She walked towards him and kicked him in the stomach, knocking him down to the floor. She stepped back and took out her phone and snapped a picture of him when he removed his hands from face long enough. "I'm calling the cops, creep, and it won't matter if you run, cause I gotta picture of you."

"Fuck you bitch," the man growled, blindly pushing himself off the color, "I'm gonna get you, you slut." He turned tail and ran, or at least attempted to; he hit trash cans and the wall on his way into the night, still clawing at his burning eyes.

Buff was surprised he could move that much at all, but he most likely pass out somewhere in the streets.

The call went through, and she quickly reported the incident.

Before Buffy could turn to the assess the woman, slow, purposeful clapping caught her attention. She whipped around, straining in the dark to see who was there.

"Nice job, luv," a familiar, British drawl came out from the dark. Buffy's eyes widened when the owner slid out from the shadows.

"Spike?" she said, before she could stop herself. The man in question grinned at her, looking her up and down.

"You remember."

"Hard to forget the man who was being arrested right in front of my eyes. Besides, your hair is weird."

He seemed affronted by that last comment. "I rather think most you birds like it."

Buffy scrunched her nose. "Birds? Whatever, if you were there all along, why didn't you help?"

"Oh I would have," Spike said earnestly, "But you came just a second before me, and you were doing, magnificently, pet. Love watching you. Didn't want to interrupt."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Right. 'Cause letting a girl handle a drunk idiot three times her size is completely okay as long as you were enjoying the show."

"Letting a surprisingly able little girl handle a drunk idiot three times her size and watch her beat the shit outta him? Yeah, s'okay I reckon." Spike showed her that same roguish grin. The blue of his eyes were teasing.

"Whatever," Buffy muttered, and turned to the woman she just saved. "You alright?"

The woman was hugging the wall, eyes terrified. She nodded.

"You might want to rethink your choice in men," Buffy told her, and held up her can of mace, "And invest in one of these babies."

"Thank you," the woman whimpered. Buffy smiled sympathetically.

"You're welcome. Come on, let's get you home."

Buffy wrapped a protective arm around the woman, and looked back at Spike. He was still there, his head cocked slightly to the left, his lips curved in a faint, but amused smile, and his eyes curious and thoroughly enjoying the moment. Buffy noted the same black jeans and black shirt she had seen him in earlier, and that his white-blonde hair was showing his original color, and those blue eyes were as striking as ever. She couldn't deny he was a sight to look out, even with that hair, which, if she were being honest with herself, made him even more attractive. She had a thing for bad boys she didn't want to admit she had.

"You're useless," she told him, bitterly.

He laughed. "I think you're doing great by yourself, ducks. I'll see you around, little warrior." With that, he disappeared back into the shadows and into the club.

Buffy let out an irritated sigh. _He really was bad news, unhelpful jerk!_

* * *

_Note: Yay, first chapter of first Spuffy AU done! :) Please leave comments and such! Thanks for reading!_


	2. Two

Note: Hey guys! Here is chapter two.

* * *

Two

Buffy hadn't returned to the Bronze after the incident. Instead, she had phoned Willow and said something very vague about having to get someone home safely, and waited with the woman for the police to arrive. She felt a twinge of guilt for not calling Riley instead, but she didn't feel like dealing with Riley then. Buffy wasn't sure exactly why, but she didn't feel up to dealing with him, or the rest of her friends. Though she remained resolute on the outside, Buffy was as shaken as much as the woman she had just saved. She knew the incident could have gone very wrong, and she would have been the one in trouble.

Her mother had seen her coming home in a police car, and after the initial panic in which Joyce had a million things rushing through her head—a million bad things—she was relieved, though quite shocked, to find out what really happened. She ushered Buffy into the kitchen and started to make the old classic Summers remedy: hot chocolate.

"That was so brave of you Buffy."

"Mace saved our butts," Buffy said quietly, nodding.

Joyce glanced at her daughter, and frowned at subdued air around the teenager. "Are you okay Buffy?"

Buffy looked up in mild surprise. "Yeah, he didn't touch me."

"No, I mean…are you feeling okay? I'm sure it must have been frightening."

"Oh," Buffy mumbled, blinking several times. Was she frightened? Hell yeah she was, but it wasn't just fear she had coursing through her in that moment. Whatever it was made her feel a little jittery. "Yeah. A bit. But I'm good. Been a long night, mom."

Joyce smiled, "Buffy, I'm proud of you. You did the right thing. But don't think this mean you can go rushing into any situation. That was dangerous, but I'm glad you did it and came out alright. And you saved a woman from a terrible fate."

Buffy grinned sadly. "I know. I mean, I know it was dangerous. Stupid, but…yeah, I did save her. I was lucky." She certainly was. Even if her scheme with the mace didn't work, Spike was there as well. Buffy didn't think, for all the bad vibes she got from him, he'd sit back and watch. So yeah, she was very lucky that night.

The next afternoon, Buffy's friends gathered at her house after hearing about the incident at the Bronze. They arrived carrying words of worry, relief that she was okay, and amazement that she had fought off someone like that troll of a man. Riley was more subdued with the praises, and watched as Willow, Xander, Oz and Anya gave her the usual words of comfort and encouragement. When the novelty of it died down, Riley was able to extricate her from her friends and pulled her aside a bit, his expression concerned: "Buffy, do you know how much danger you were in?"

"'Course I did, silly," Buffy answered, smiling at his protectiveness, "That's why I used mace. And mace is serious business."

"I heard you rushed in and attacked him," Riley said, sighing, "That wasn't smart, Buffy. You're barely 110 pounds, did you think it was safe for you to take one a man like that?"

Buffy's face fell, and she looked troubled. "Well, he was drunk and I had a plan, a-and the mace. I had a dangerous weapon."

"You should have gotten someone, Buffy. You should have gotten _me_."

"Yeah, I should have, but I couldn't! You should have seen that poor woman, Riley! I couldn't just leave her like that! If I had left to get someone, he would have been all—" She stopped abruptly, her face grim as she thought of what would have happened in that alley if she hadn't decided to charge in. Well, there was Spike in that alleyway, who probably would have stopped it, but she didn't know that then.

"Buffy," he sighed tiredly, folding his arms over his chest, "I knew letting you take that self defense course with me was a mistake."

Buffy frowned as a surge of anger hit her. "A mistake? I didn't think me learning to defend myself was a mistake. Besides, the instructor said I was a natural." She grinned playfully at him. "I remember someone getting all jealous…"

"You see, that's the problem," Riley said seriously, "You learn how to punch and kick a little, and you get a little praise, and you think you're ready to fight off jerks like last night. You're not, Buffy. I don't want to see you doing that again."

Buffy pouted. "Well…I mean, it's not like I got out looking for fights you know. I used what I learn to-to help someone and myself. I thought…" She looked at Riley sadly, "You'd be proud. You know, be proud that your girl is all tough and self-reliant." Smiling sweetly at him, she wrapped her arms around his neck, "Don't you like?"

Riley sighed, and leaned into her embrace. "I just don't want you to get hurt."

Buffy smiled as he pulled her into a closer embrace. "I know. I'm sorry I worried you."

"You should have called me afterwards."

Buffy said nothing to that. Instead, she looked at Riley closely and felt warmed by his concern, but hesitant as well. She was relieved when her mother came up and greeted Riley, asking him about his acceptance to West Point.

The rest of Buffy's weekend past by in a blur. Riley took her out to a movie and a dinner, though he wouldn't let her out of his sight. She found his protectiveness sweet, but a bit stifling. Still, it had always been that way with Riley. He had what people called old-fashioned chivalry—the knight in armor saving the damsel type of mindset, a definite old American ideal. Buffy wasn't fragile, but she had a weakness for being taken care of—at least she did when she first went out with Riley. That had been a few months after her first real relationship which ended in a disaster, one that left Buffy wanting to be wrapped up and protected.

But now, Riley was in danger of being overbearing. His insistence that she go to a university near his was still an unresolved issue. Her talk with him had made him less insistent, but Riley still held that it was the best for them. Buffy couldn't help but feel guilty about disagreeing. She loved Riley, she really did. She could see a future with him—so didn't that mean she should want to be with him no matter what? NYU was a great school, and she wasn't so passionate about Northwestern either that she absolutely had to attend there. So why didn't she just choose NYU and be that closer to her honey?

Whenever she tried to rationalize it, she couldn't without almost coming to the conclusion that maybe she didn't love Riley that much. Riley would give her a hurt puppy look, a look that said, 'if you love me, and if we love each other we should always be together like this. You should want to be in the same area as me. Don't you love me?' And she just couldn't answer that question.

When school rolled around, the attention from the rest of the class flattered Buffy, who was starting to feel that her heroism was a bad idea from all of Riley's scolding. She made a point to remind herself that she was a bit lucky, but that didn't stop her from feeling good to know she was capable of protecting herself.

Although she had told her mother and Riley that she understood how dangerous it was, that she was scared and how she would never do something like that again, it wasn't the whole truth. She was scared, but she was also _thrilled_. The sense of foreboding fear, the kicks, the punch, and_ oh god the adrenaline rush_—it was…exhilarating, and frankly, quite empowering. She felt strong and powerful. Against her best sense, Buffy found herself loving every second of it, and even secretly desired a chance to experience it again. Of course, with more skills and caution. She didn't want to become a victim herself. Buffy wondered if she could take up self-defense some more—or even actual fighting classes.

"Hey Buffy!" Willow skidded to a stop beside Buffy, her red hair flying in the rush, "Going home already?"

Buffy smiled at her best friend. "Nope, thinking about checking out some boxing and karate places downtown. Wanna come with?"

Willow gave her a look of surprise. "Boxing and karate?"

"Well, any type of self defense or fighting class, really."

"Does this have anything to do with what happened Friday night?" asked Willow.

"Sorta," Buffy admitted with a sheepish grin, "Realize I should learn how to protect myself better."

Willow nodded. "Good plan. Though I'm not much for the punching and kicking and…physical-ness. I think I'll stick to screaming as my weapon and defense. And maybe scratching."

"So, you wouldn't know a good place, would you?"

"Nope. I know the best bookstores in town, and, if you are interested, the best place to get chocolate and cherry ice cream sundaes. You should ask Riley. Doesn't he do martial arts?"

Buffy crinkled her nose. "He told me I shouldn't be learning to fight, cause it's giving me ideas."

"He said that?" Willow asked, looking somewhat astonished, "Well, I guess he thinks that you might get hurt when you try to fight off men like that other night on your own."

"I know," Buffy sighed, "But, doesn't mean I have to completely give up having some form of defense, you know."

"I understand Buffy," said Willow, nodding "I'm sure there's some karate or judo or tae kwon do places downtown."

Buffy brightened. "So you're coming?"

"Sure. Xander's got detention and Anya is waiting for him. So I'm all yours for the rest of the day—as long as we get some ice cream sundaes on Benters Street."

"Done! Thanks Will! And don't tell Riley, please? He'll be all sad and miffed if I went out and did this right after he said not to."

"I'm taking your secret to the grave, Buffy."

Buffy giggled and gave Willow a small hug. "So, about this sundae place…"

* * *

Spike was at the Florine and Yema Bookstore, which was located at the end of Benters street. He was browsing the fiction section lazily, wondering why recent modern novels were shitty as they were. Seeing that the popular book section being taken over by thick tomes of vapid teenage vampire romances, he wasn't surprised at how far quality had fallen.

Of course, if he was only in the store for a book, he wouldn't be there at all. Instead, after taking a short tour of the shelves, he stalked up to the cashier's desk. The cashier, a kind looking man with a bit of a skin problem (as in a bit loose and wrinkly from losing too much weight in such a short time) greeted him.

"'Lo Clem. Business goin' good?"

"Slow, but good. Books aren't so popular these days."

"Pity. What'd you have for me, Clem?"

Clem frowned. "Heard you were hauled away by the fuzz weeks ago, Spike. Don't you think it's dangerous to get into it again?"

Spike grinned wryly at him. "S'what makes it better, Clem."

Clem sighed. "It's your funeral."

Spike's grin turned even drier. "And I keep tellin' you mate: s'what makes it better."

"You should see a therapist instead, Spike," Clem offered casually, reaching for a drawer near the floor. Spike rolled his eyes. "You have issues."

"Everyone has issues."

"Not everyone's issues makes them obsessed with...well…whatever you're obsessed with, friend."

"I'm not bloody obsessed," Spike grumbled petulantly, "Jus' put my name back in, Clem. Same time, same place."

Clem came back up with a leather bound journal in his hands. He flipped it open and penned in Spike's name in neat writing. "There you are, Spike. Next one this Saturday."

Spike nodded, satisfied. "Good." He sniffed quickly, feeling things falling right, or at least, as much as he could make it right. He needed the rush again, the feel of fists and taste of irony blood. The sight of the blonde last night did nothing for that hunger. It was magnificent and delicious to watch such a pretty little thing like that. It made him tingle. Huh, poncy-type of feeling that—tingling.

Spike looked around the nearly empty shop, and then looked back at Clem. "Any word from the grapevine? Anythin' might concern me?"

Clem lifted a heavy brow at him. "Nope. Silent on that front, Spike. He might have given up on dragging you back."

"No," Spike said darkly, "He's a sick, obsessive bastard. I screwed him over, Clem, and he's gonna get me for it. Plus, I still…" Spike trailed off, his eyes getting cloudy at the memory. He cleared his throat and looked up at Clem with a hard look. "It's just a bit quiet now, but he's not given up."

Clem nodded knowingly. "But there is one rumor Spike…and still a rumor, but it might be…important?"

"Yeah?"

"You know anything about a chick named Glory?"

Spike blinked, dread flooding him at the mention of that name. "Yeah…know of her. Insane bint who calls herself Glorificus?"

"Think so."

"What about her?" Spike couldn't help but sound a little worried. He knew of Glory, and she was bad news. Even the Triad knew not to fuck with Glory. "She in town?"

"That's what rumors say."

"Why the fuck would someone like Glory come here to Sunnydale?"

"Well, Sunnydale does have ample…_nightlife _despite its size," Clem mumbled, shrugging. "But I heard she was looking for something. Not too sure. Don't wanna get too knowing when Glory is involved. Best go to Willie's for that."

Spike grunted, and nodded. He would be giving Willie a visit. If Glory saw him or even heard that he was here, then she might just let it slip to _him_ that Spike was in Sunnydale, California, and she'd do it just for kicks. It was just Spike's luck that Glory decided she wanted something in Sunnydale, of all places.

Spike gave Clem a twenty for the service and trouble, and headed out. The threat of Glory loomed darkly over his head, and he sure hoped that it was just a rumor she was in Sunnydale. He had to be careful now.

Spike sighed and took out his smokes and lit a cigarette. After a long drag, he relaxed considerably and started to walk back towards his apartment, making plans for a visit to Willie's and the grocery store; his refrigerator was pathetically empty.

It took him a moment to register recognition when he saw her, standing under the shade of Grana's Ice Cream parlor, working on a freshly and ornately made chocolate sundae. But when he did, he couldn't help but grin, seeing her so disarmingly innocent as she worked on her dessert with such concentration. Really, the bird was popping up all over the place now, wasn't she? Or maybe he'd just started noticing. He figured it was about time to know her name.

"Got something on your nose there, bitsy warrior."

She looked up in surprise, and hurriedly rubbed her nose and stopped when she noticed him standing there, smirking. She frowned at him.

"It's you."

"That it is," Spike replied, puffing out a cloud of smoke.

"I'd rather you not smoke while I'm trying to eat. Some of us care about our lungs." She crinkled her nose at him.

Spike chuckled, and took an exaggerated drag from his cigarette, earning him an eye roll and a glare.

"What do you want, Spike?"

"Nothin' really," he responded, "Jus' sayin' hi, pet, since we have a history an' all. I've been runnin' into you a lot lately. Might think you were followin' me."

"_Please._" She rolled her eyes again. She was very good at that—and damn Spike found her so adorable whenever she did it. "I think you're stalking me, if anything. And I don't think the two times we met can be considered having 'history'."

Spike only grinned in response. He motioned towards her hands and asked, "How's your hand?"

She blinked. "What?"

"Your hand, bitsy warrior, you know, the one you used to punch that wanker into oblivion Friday night? I'm guessin' girl like you ain't used to punching people. Didn't fracture a pretty little finger did you?"

"No," Buffy answered, defensively. She glanced down at her fingers and looked up at Spike with a cool, almost challenging glare, "My fingers are just fine. Didn't hurt a bit." A big lie, that was.

"Good to hear," he said, "Gotta hand it to you, you have a good right hook, pet. Good snap, good timing, lacking a bit o' power, though I suppose it'd be expected from someone your size. And that mace was bloody wonderful, pet."

The girl looked stunned at his praise, and he could see flickers of delight and pride in her fighting her desire to be offhanded and annoyed. In the end, curiosity won out. "You sound like you know a lot about it."

"I do."

She frowned at him, studying him with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. "You get into a lot of fight, don't you? That last time in the hospital? You beat someone up?"

"I beat someone in a fight _he_ instigated," Spike corrected coolly, "But yeah, fightin' s'my thing. Sport, have you."

She crinkled her nose at him. "Some sport that is."

"Fightin'. Sparrin'. Best sport in the world luv. And that's coming from a huge football—for soccer for you yanks—fan."

"Right," she muttered, but Spike saw curiosity growing in those large, green eyes of hers. They were mesmerizing, they were, and so full of life and light, it made Spike disappointed that he could not match them. They were too alive, too out of reach. "So, you wouldn't happen to know any good place to learn self-defense, would you? Or like a good dojo or something?"

Spike looked at her in surprise, and let out a small laugh. "So the bitsy warrior is interested in getting all trained up again? Liked it, did you? Beatin' on the man? Make you feel powerful."

She looked offended by his suggestion. "N-no I don't! I just want to learn to protect myself better. I-I was lucky that night, Spike. And no I did not enjoy it."

Spike had to her that—she was lucky. He cocked his head a bit, regarding her curiously. "You wanna learn how to fight, pet?"

"Yeah, that's the idea."

"Real fightin?"

"Um, I guess?"

"No goddamn rules or stiff forms that they teach you at those poncy wannabe dojos? They won't teach you anythin' pet. Trust me. You'll learn how to count to ten in Japanese, Korean or whatever damn language. Then you'll learn some showy moves—and next thing you'll know, you're on your ass in your real fight. No matter what the color of your soddin' belt is. That's what those so called 'dojos' are about."

"And you think you know better, Spike?"

"Well, yeah. You'd be surprised how much I know."

"I don't doubt that…" she mumbled sarcastically, looking down at her melting ice cream.

"If you're interested, Goldilocks, I'd show you the ropes. Give you a bit of a lesson before you go on to those wankers."

Buffy looked up at him curiously. She seemed surprised at his offer and hesitant, rightfully so too. Spike grinned, knowing full well she would not be too keen on taking fighting lesson from someone like him, but it also pleased him in some odd ways that she hadn't outright rejected.

"It's Buffy," she said, finally, "Stop calling me all those weird nick names."

Well that wasn't the reply he was expecting. "S'what I call people, pet."

"So you call everyone you meet bitsy warrior and Goldilocks?"

He grinned at that, genuinely. "Nah, only you, Buffy. But if it shouldn't seem so bad if you're name is _Buffy_."

Buffy threw him a threatening glare. "What's wrong with Buffy? My mother gave me that name. And you shouldn't be talking, _Spike_."

"Least Spike isn't my real name, _Buffy_."

She was about to fling back a retort when a whirl of red and magenta rushed out of the ice cream parlor, apologizing profusely to Buffy about taking too long in the bathroom. Spike nearly stepped back from the sheer redness of the girl's long red hair and the bright magenta sweater she wore. _Talk about clash of color. _He immediately dubbed her 'Red'. She stopped babbling when she saw him standing there, watching the two of them curiously.

"Oh sorry," Red apologized again, "I interrupted you guys didn't I? Sorry, I'm a bit of a spaz and unknowingly rude."

Spike smirked. "S'alright Red. I was just leavin'. See ya around, Goldilocks." He winked at them—well, Buffy specifically—directed a playful smile her way and continued down the sidewalk.

"Who was that?" Willow asked as she watched Spike's retreating form. The long leather duster he had on swished dramatically behind him, and the bleach-blond hair actually glinting a bit in the sun. Buffy could still smell the scent of cigarette and leather in the air around her, and she almost felt disappointed that he was gone. _Almost. _

"Spike," Buffy answered.

Willow frowned. "That's his name?"

"Think it's a nickname."

"Huh, big on the nickname, isn't her? At least of the hair color variety," said Willow, "He called me Red and you Goldilocks."

Buffy let out knowing groan and rolled her eyes, "Tell me about it. He calls me pet, love, and bitsy warrior."

"Was he hitting on you?"

"I don't know…" Buffy admitted, and she honestly didn't. She wasn't sure if she minded or not either way. "Anyways, doesn't matter. Ready to go? I think there's a karate place on the corner of 4th and Holden. We could check that out first!"

* * *

Please leave a comment/review/etc!

Sorry there isn't a lot of Spuffy yet, but there will be when it comes to that. A lot of Spuffiness will follow.

Thanks for reading.


	3. Three

Note: Hey thanks for reading guys! Here is third chapter!

* * *

Three

Buffy plopped onto her bed with a stack of brochures she had collected from the martial arts places downtown. She picked up one of the many karate brochures and absently scanned it, her eyes drawn to the glossy pictures of kids and teenagers happily bowing to their sensei in their crisp white outfits and brightly colored belts. They were so happy, clean and disciplined, she thought. She smirked as Spike's words came back to her, in all their irritated British glory.

"No matter what the color of their sodding' belt…" she quoted to herself, an amused grin etched on her face. She affected the accent, and giggled when it came out sounding ridiculous. She wondered what 'sodding' meant and if Spike had any colored belts in karate. It'd probably be black, knowing him.

Buffy frowned at herself. Knowing Spike? She snorted at herself. Right, three meetings didn't equal any type of knowage at all. Especially when one time was him getting arrested and winking at her. _God, the nerve of him. _Spike was _distinct_ in manners, speech and action so anyone, not just her, would remember him.

Buffy tossed the karate brochure aside and picked up a kendo brochure. She wasn't even sure why she'd even went into this one: she was sure she wouldn't be using any type of sword, bamboo or steel. She had to admit the whacking people with long bamboo sticks with a serious face looked kinda fun, and she even liked those long robes they wore. Plus, it was very samurai, and if those samurai movies that Xander and Riley went gaga over were anything to go by, they were a pretty tight bunch.

The door opened and Willow walked in, a bag of potato chips in hand. She promptly sank onto the bed next to Buffy and picked up a brochure, which proudly presented its reader with the Matsumoto School of Ninjutsu. Willow crinkled her nose. "This has to be fake. You know, no one really knows who or what the ninjas really were. Or how they were trained. Or even if they were really real. I doubt that they had a nifty scroll of Ninja secrets for people to learn."

"Thanks for the history lesson, Will," said Buffy, putting down the kendo brochure, "No ninja school for me. Though Ninja-Buffy sounds pretty awesome." She let out a sigh and dropped to her elbow, her face propped on her hands. She looked down at the pile dejectedly. "There's so many of them! And how do I know what they teach you is…you know…usable a in real fight? Not that I _plan_ to get into one. But, if I get into one."

Willow looked at Buffy sympathetically. "Maybe you should start with basics? Like how to punch or kick properly. Cause wow, heard it was pretty painful to punch someone. Or how to disable your attackers! Like we do in P.E, but more pro, you know? You can find someone who can teach you the basics?"

Buffy frowned, "Maybe." Her mind flashed back to Spike and his oddball offer. "Like from someone experienced in fighting?"

"Yeah," Willow agreed, "Well, not just fighting. But with skills too."

Spike did say he knew a lot, if she were to take his word for it. Buffy shook her head at the thought. No way was she taking up his offer. The man was a creep and a criminal! And stinky. Very stinky and probably had very bad lungs. Didn't he know smoking was so not cool anymore? And lung cancer and hacking coughs aside—Hello! Yellow teeth and tobacco breath are big turn offs for girls!

And _please,_ that hair? Buffy strummed her fingers absently on the bed, thinking about that blinding white color and trying to beat down the like that was creeping into her thoughts at the memory of the hair. She grudgingly admitted to herself that it was sorta cool. It had an edgy, in your face and don't-give-a-fuck about offending your proper senses vibe, and wasn't that always exciting? And it matched so well with his snide smirk, the long black leather coat and boots. It was a Look. Gotta hand it to him—the Look worked for him, even if it was a bit Billy Idol. Of course, there was the matter of his blue eyes. God, she could wax poetic about how blue blue could be. She's seen blue before, but not on this scale. It had to be his pale skin and white hair that accentuated them, and it didn't help he had those cheekbones that just held led up to those—

"Hellooo? All well in Buffyland?"

Buffy blinked and looked at Willow, startled. "Huh?"

"Looked like you took a little trip there, Buffy," said Willow, smiling knowingly at her, "Where'd'ya go?"

Buffy's face was tinged with the slightest shade of pink when she realized she exactly where she had gone. "Uh…nowhere. Just thinking."

"Anything interesting?"

"Oh, no. Nothing interesting."

"Ah, that's why you went all catatonic there for a second?" Willow teased.

Buffy shot the redhead a wry grin. "I did not! Really, Will, it was nothing. Just me spacing out. Anyways, all this martial arts stuff is making me hungry. Think there's some leftover pizza in the fridge…"

"Are you coming to see the Dingoes tonight, Buff?" Willow asked as Buffy bounced off the bed.

"Bronze?"

"Yup."

Buffy smiled, twirling her hair into a loose bun. "'Course. I don't think Riley can make it though. He told he's got some stuff to do for West Point."

"Then it's just us girls!" Willow frowned as a thought occurred to her. "And Xander."

"And Oz."

"Oz doesn't count because he's playing."

"Point taken. So us girls! And Xander."

* * *

Spike took his usual seat at Willie's. The place was quiet in the afternoon, and its usual circus of less than savory characters was reduced to a few guys playing pool off in one corner. They pay Spike no mind when he came in, though one or two glanced at him in acknowledgement. It was honestly more than Spike would have liked, but he had been in Sunnydale for half a year now, and no one had tattled on him yet. Of course, it probably meant they didn't know who the hell he was to tattle on, and it was going to stay that way.

Willie, on the other hand, knew. Not because Spike told him, but the bartender, in true bartender-y fashion, knew a lot and heard a lot. He was deeper in the underground than Spike gave him credit for. He knew Spike by name, and quickly assured him upon their first meeting that he had no desire to call upon Spike's dangerous relations to Sunnydale.

"Spike," Willie greeted, "You're back."

"What, was it common knowledge I got hauled off or somethin'?" Spike grumbled.

"Well, you only got yourself cuffed in public," Willie answered dryly, "In a _hospital_, no less. I thought you were supposed to try not to draw attention. Besides, _I'd_ notice you'd gone if were just dead in a ditch."

"Don't I feel loved…" Spike deadpanned, "Sure it's not because I'm your cash cow?"

"What can I say," Willie answered, shrugging, "I take care of my cows. The usual?" Spike nodded. "Speaking of cashing the cow, Spike, I don't doubt you've put yourself back in already?" He poured in a shot of Jack for his said cash cow.

Spike flashed him a smirk, "'M back this weekend, mate."

"Good. Have to admit. It was getting a bit dull without you."

"Yeah, I s'pose it is," Spike said, picking up the small shot glass and gazing at the amber liquid, "So, Clem told me: Glory's in town."

Spike glanced up at Willie in time to see the bartender tense, and his eyes glaze for a moment with fear.

"Rumor," Willie growled, "Has to be."

"Right. Nothin' for her here, is there? But, rumors about Glory aren't to be taken lightly. No one wants her to be in their town…unless you're doin' business with that crazy bint. So, I wanna know straight up: is she really in town?"

"Can't say, man. Why, you thinkin' about hightailing it outta here?"

Spike shrugged. "Might have to. Can't risk her seeing me and blabbing. And she would, you know—she knows they want me back, if not dead."

"Well, remember to pay off your tab before you leave."

"Thanks ever so for your concern." Spike downed the shot quickly and slammed the glass down, and motioned at Willie for another.

"So you really don't know if and why Glory might be here?" asked Spike.

Willie shrugged, pouring in more of the spirit into the glass. "Glory ain't the type to do things logically in the first place. The girl is messed up in the head. One time, she personally fucked up that one new recruit in the Family, just 'cause the kid was making eyes at her and she thought he was ugly."

"Now, heard that was an urban myth, mate," said Spike, shaking his head, "Doubt the Brothers would stand for her goin' postal on their boys."

"She's their sister, and she's Glory—not _just anyone_. Anyways, afterwards, she got herself in a tizzy 'cause her Jimmy Choo heels broke after she was done."

"_That_ I can believe to be true," said Spike with a humorless chuckle. He had first hand experiences with crazy birds.

"Crazy and unpredictable, that one." Sighed Willie, "Even her brothers don't wanna deal with her. She could be here for anything—to off someone, or to open shop or just to fuckin' go _shopping_."

"Well, whoop de doo for me then. Bint decides to go shopping and I have to run away. What the hell is here to shop for in this miserable place anyways?" Spike growled, "Bloody hate this."

"Just lay low for awhile, Spike," Willie advised, "I'll keep you informed."

Spike nodded sullenly, and downed the shot of the liquor. He really might have to uproot, and just when he was finding Sunnydale to be more interesting.

* * *

A few days passed since Buffy's last saw Spike in front of Grana's. It was infuriating, because every time she considered a karate place or a tae kwon do place, his stupid voice kept intruding on her, insulting the teachers or the griping about the 'poncy wannabe dojos'. She didn't even know why his voice was in her head at all—sure it was sorta sexy, 'cause British accents were completely hot (except when it was Giles or someone equally old and stuffy), and combined with his light baritone—well, it was _very_ sexy indeed. And it wasn't fair, because he was all 'rebel without cause', with all that leather, that eyebrow scar and gelled white hair and chipped black nail polish and _god, why did she even remember his fingernails?_

She really had no chance.

Buffy growled at herself. Bad boys were just that, bad. Sexy, but needed to stay far away from her. Besides, she didn't even know why she was getting that flustered—she had Riley, who was everything a girl could want: smart, caring, sweet, loyal and responsible. Perfect boyfriend material.

Of course, that didn't mean that Buffy couldn't appreciate the salty goodness of others, especially someone like Spike, who in no way would be more than someone to…_look at_. Nope, absolute no threat to Riley at all, and Buffy doubted she'd be seeing him again. Three times wasn't the charm, obviously. So she allowed herself some reprieve for lingering on the bleach-headed man—and linger she did for all those days

And perhaps by the sheer power of her just thinking about him, he appeared again one evening, just passing by the Espresso Pump in all his punk-leather glory. Buffy wondered why she's never noticed him before. She stopped listening to Xander's and Anya's argument and watched him out of the corner of her eyes, as he stepped into the café. For a moment, Buffy thought he was coming towards her, but he barely seemed to notice anyone, much less her. He seemed distracted, frown lines marring his otherwise perfectly (and enviably) smooth skin. He _obviously _exfoliated.

She rejected the thought of greeting him, remembering that they weren't exactly on that friendly of terms, and she didn't want to the job of introducing him to Xander and Anya.

Buffy heard the angry shouting first, though she didn't make out the words. Buffy turned and a dark haired man came running into café. Half the Espresso Pump hushed and looked at the man oddly, who was searching the café with 'Shining'-grade craze in his bloodshot eyes. Buffy sensed danger, and quickly got to her feet. She saw the man's attention fixate on Spike, who grumbled under something under his breath.

The man let out another feral yell and charged at him, and Spike rolled his eyes. He deftly caught his attacker and smashed his head into the condiments counter. Screams erupted from the other customers, and several people stumbled away from the ensuing fight.

Spike's attacker managed to get back on his feet, and fished something out of his pockets. Buffy gasped when she saw the flash of silver of a pocket knife.

"Oi, mate," Spike growled, "This ain't the place for this."

"You don't get to talk to me like that, Spike."

Spike sneered, "You wanna do this, Klein? You really want to? You think I can't beat you to pulp again?"

"Xander," Buffy hissed, "Dial the police."

Xander was stunned, but he managed to nod and brought out his phone. Anya clung to him, but there was more disapproval from her than fear, as if she found what was going on rather irritating.

Buffy turned her attention back Spike, who was regarding Klein with irritation, obviously not seeing the man as a threat at all. His eyes eventually refocused to look beyond Klein, and met Buffy's, who tried not to look so anxious. His eyes widened a bit in recognition, then become steely with determination. He turned back to Klein. "This ain't a place for a fight, you daft git."

Klein didn't seem to agree. He lunged at Spike, slashing the air between them menacingly. Spike slid out of the way, his movements minute and controlled. He caught the arm with the knife and twisted it, so that the man let out a painful yelp and dropped the weapon. Spike kneed him in the stomach and swung a blow to his head. Klein crashed to the floor in a pathetic, unconscious heap.

"Idiot," Spike growled, "Just wanted a bloody coffee. But no…couldn't wait…had to attack me in fucking public…"

Buffy stared at the defeated man, stunned. Particularly at how fast Spike had dispatched him, his actions deft and small. It was sort of anti-climatic.

"You alright, Goldilocks?"

Her eyes snapped up to Spike, who was in the process of lighting a cigarette. Buffy noticed not a single strand of his hair was displaced in the fight, and not a sweat was broken (If sweat could be broken, that is. It was such a weird saying). It was…impressive, if anti-climatic.

"Yeah, I am," Buffy answered, taking measures to make sure her voice didn't come out weak, "Are you?"

He smirked at her. "That was nothin'."

"Huh," was all Buffy could manage at that point before the rest of the café started coming back to life around. Xander called out to Buffy, and she turned around, seeing both him and Anya relaxing back into safety.

"Police is on their way," said Anya.

When she turned back to Spike, he had gone. She caught sight of the tail end of his coat as he exited the Espresso Pump compound. Without another thought, she shot after him, ignoring Xander when he yelled after her.

Buffy turned the corner and saw Spike's retreating back, the white smoke of his cigarette trailing after him. "Hey! Spike! Wait!"

Spike stopped and turned around. He grinned when he saw her, that an amused, self-satisfied grin she first glimpsed in the hospital. "Well if it isn't the bitsy warrior…"

Buffy stopped just a few feet from him. "Why are you leaving?"

"Cause I figured I wasn't gonna get my coffee now," he answered with a shrug.

Buffy couldn't decide if he was being serious or not.

"But, the police…"

"And there's that too," he agreed with nod.

"No, you have to report to the police, about the guy who attacked you. Who was he by the way? He looked insane! And why are you always getting into fights?"

Spike lifted his scarred eyebrow at her, looking like he wanted to tell her off. He took a drag from his cigarette, his eyes never leaving her as he did, making feely Buffy antsy under his scrutiny. Finally, he answered: "You know the coppers and I aren't exactly chums, pet. There are enough witnesses around to get his ass hauled. And that was Klein, bloody stupid idiot whose fragile ego got broken when I upped him in a...erm…a fight, and he decided he wants to fuck me up in revenge. There's a bit of story to that, but nothing too interesting. And for your last question, luv—I say why not?"

Buffy was mildly surprised that he answered her at all. Suddenly, she became painfully aware of the fact that she had run after him, against better judgment, and wasn't sure what exactly she wanted. It wasn't like she _really_ cared if he reported to the police or not; she just didn't want him to disappear again, not after _that_. "Oh," she said, "Well, it was impressive."

Both of Spike's brows shot up in surprised, and he looked thoroughly flattered. "Is that so?"

"Yeah. I mean, you barely moved and you beat him down," she continued. Ah, now she knew where she was going with this. She let out a long breath, "You said you'd show me the ropes? Is that offer still standing?"

Now he looked positively stunned. "'Course it is, luv."

Buffy froze momentarily. It was still standing, she realized…so, she can take this, couldn't she? God, her mom would freak and Riley would freak even more. Somehow that made it even more appealing, and she drew strength from her new found rebelliousness. "Then teach me. I'll hire you."

"You serious, pet?"

"Yeah, of course I am. After your little spiel about how bad those 'poncy wannabe dojos' are, whatever that really means, I've gotten all paranoid about it," Buffy sighed, and crossed her arms over her chest. "You said you knew, and you were impressive. So I'll hire you. But you have to…" She trailed off, suddenly taken aback by the expression forming on his face; she felt her heart speed up a tiny bit.

The smile that grew on Spike's face was positively leg-weakening, Buffy realized in panic. He couldn't do that, she protested to herself, he couldn't be all hard and edgy and punk and pull out a smile like _that_. It was warm, and reached his eyes, which lit up with amusement and delight, like a child taking in his birthday present. His expression held none of his usual smirk, and she found it was startlingly handsome on him. Buffy realized in surprise how happy her proposal seemed to make him, and she felt both anxious and flattered by the reaction.

"I'm not gonna be cheap, you know," he said finally, suddenly becoming interested in his cigarette, which he was absentmindedly rolling in his fingers. Buffy was left feeling a little flustered.

"I-I know. I'll pay the same rate as the dojos."

"Good," he muttered, glancing up at her discreetly, "Uh…when do you want to start?"

"Um, Saturday? Tomorrow?" Buffy replied, feeling more emboldened by the passing second, "Noon?"

"Hm, no can do Saturday, luv."

"Alright, Sunday? Around noon?"

"Sunday noon it is."

"Good. Though I dunno if there are any places we can go to. Like training rooms? Do you know any?"

"Got one in mind."

"Good," Buffy nodded, "I'll meet you at the Espresso Pump and go from there. So…uh, see you then, I guess. Yeah…" _Could she have ended on a lamer note_? she groaned to herself.

Spike said nothing, and once again was looking at her curiously, though he didn't seem as amused or snarky this time, just pensive. Finally, he nodded and said, "See you later, then, Goldilocks."

Buffy let out an irritated sigh, and very pointedly said, "Buffy."

He blinked at her. "Wha?"

"_Buffy_," she repeated, her voice firmer, "You can't have forgotten my name already."

He chuckled lightly, shaking his head a little. "No, _Goldilocks_, I haven't forgotten."

She rolled her eyes. "I've have a name, Spike, use it."

He only smirked at her. "See you later, wee warrior _Buffy_." And he turned and walked away from her, leaving her glaring at his back. She wasn't sure she liked that new nick name any better than the other ones. But hey, at least her name was part of it; that had to count for something.

* * *

He had no idea why he said yes. Bleeding fuck, he messed up there didn't he? Teach a little SoCal girl fighting? Recipe for disaster, that. And with the threat of Glory and his might having to leave, this arrangement was just a bad idea.

The worst part? He was actually looking forward to Sunday. He made excuses for himself: it was something different, and he was always a sucker for things that broke his usual routine. The money was good, and job was gonna be easy. Teach her to punch and kick a little and the chit'll probably be satisfied. He figured the confrontation from a week ago scared her into this.

And if he were being honest to himself? Lil' Buffy got his blood going the day she dismissed him with an adroit roll of her pretty big eyes, and she stayed at the back of his mind the moment he saw her beat down the drunk. Small and fierce and brave she was, and absolutely golden. And she wanted to be fiercer and braver, the little chit, and unabashedly followed him and asked him to teach her. Yeah, he _really_ liked this Buffy, and he was going to enjoy his new job.

* * *

"Wow," Willow exclaimed, "Buffy, you're like a trouble magnet this week."

Buffy sank further into her bed and nodded. Willow had come over after all the excitement at the Espresso Pump, mainly to offer her emotional support and help finish AP English Lit homework. Xander and Anya had gone home after some hot chocolate therapy from Joyce. Riley didn't know yet, as he was still out of town, and Buffy was glad for it, especially when she was feeling very guilty about striking up that deal with Spike.

"And this Spike guy again, huh?" said Willow, sitting down on the bed facing Buffy, who had reached for Mr. Gordo and was fretting with the pig's ear.

Speaking of Spike…

"Wills…" Buffy started anxiously, "I think…I think…I did something really stupid and dangerous and sorta completely impulsive…"

Willow looked at her with raised brows. "Sorta completely?"

"Yeah…you know Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, I left out the part that when I went after him…I asked him to…teach me to fight…" Buffy looked up at her best friend with a guilty expression.

"You did? Er…Buffy, isn't that a little dangerous? I mean, what if he turns out to be all 'grr' and dangerous? Especially, if you're gonna be alone with him, getting…physical."

"I know I know!" Buffy exclaimed, "I just…I dunno why. I thought he was cool and and, he was so impressive, Wills, you should have seen him, and I've been want to learn and he's been in my head all week so…" There was no way she was going to tell Buffy that the first time she met Spike, he was getting arrested—she didn't even want to remind herself. No one even knew that he had been in the alley with her.

"Whoa there," Willow said, waving her hand, "Awful sentence aside Buffy…he was in your head all week?"

Buffy looked even more guilty then, and shrunk dejectedly further into her bed.

Willow's eye widened with realization: "Buffy, are you crushing on Spike?"

"NO! I'm not!" Buffy cried out in alarm, "No crushing happening, not on Spike. No way. Uh-uh."

Willow grinned teasingly. "I think there's an expression for this…right 'The lady doth protest too much, methinks'."

"_I doth not_," Buffy protested petulantly, pouting, "If anything, I'm just appreciating his finer…qualities. But no real crushage. But wow, he's hard not to appreciate."

Willow nodded and made a muffled nose of agreement, which earned an amused look from Buffy.

"Hey, I have eyes too," Willow muttered, "He's got some serious cheekbones."

Buffy giggled. "Yeah. Well, in case he does turn out to be an axe murderer, then at least he was a pretty axe murderer?"

"Pretty, huh?" laughed Willow.

"Very pretty. Wait for my phone Sunday? Just in case I need to be rescued from his underground cellar of doom?"

"Hopefully his underground cellar of doom has good cell phone reception."

Buffy let out a groan as reality hit her again. "Agh, Wills, this is stupid and dangerous isn't it?"

"Then don't go? Tell him you changed your mind?"

Buffy pouted. "But…I kinda want to."

Willow giggled. "That pretty huh?"

"That_ good_," Buffy corrected, with a roll of her eyes, "Skill wise. You know, I'll just have to take this risk. Sure it's stupid, but what's life without a little danger?"

"Not even a Disney film," Willow answered sprightly, "And I'll mind the phone."

"Thanks Willow."

"Sure. And…are you gonna let Riley know?"

Buffy cringed and picked at Mr. Gordo's snout. "Uh…maybe…not right away."

"Well, it's your choice," said Willow, shrugging, "Can't imagine him too happy about it, though, but if it makes you happy, _and_ Spike doesn't turn out to be a creepy axe murderer, I say it's all green from here."

Buffy smile appreciatively at her friend. "Thanks Wills. Again. You're so the best. And I'm going to miss you when you go off to your fancy university in London."

"Me too, Buffy."

Both girls sighed, their expressions doleful yet wistful. Buffy bit her lips, her mind still fretfully dwelling on Spike, though with no particular line of thought or anything. It was funny—as anxious and scared as she was, Buffy looked forward to their first class.

Willow looked at Buffy after moment. "So? You ready analyze the craziness of Cathy and Heathcliff?"

* * *

Note: Sorry if you feel things might be moving a bit slow, but just bear with me? Yeah? Thanks for reading!


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